


Boba Fettuary 2021

by kazhan



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Fettuary 2021, Gen, Jango is trying, M/M, Mention of Death In Childbirth, Mention of sex activities between two teenagers, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Vader is a creep, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazhan/pseuds/kazhan
Summary: A collection of fics I wrote for the Boba Fett month (Fettuary (¬‿¬)).
Relationships: Boba Fett & Darth Vader, Boba Fett & Jango Fett, Boba Fett/Han Solo, Bossk & Boba Fett
Comments: 23
Kudos: 38





	1. Jango

**Author's Note:**

> The Fettuary 2021 prompt list is right [here](https://twitter.com/bobafettuary/status/1352346914751193088)! 
> 
> I probably won't write for every prompt, but whenever I do, I'll post the fic here! 😊

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Jango is not a good dad, but he's trying to be for Boba. This fic deals with the fear, joy and exhilaration of becoming a parent, if this is a sensitive topic for you, proceed with caution. ❤

“Are you sure you don’t want us to transfer him to a growing tube?” the longneck asks and Jango resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he’s sure, he didn’t ask for an unaltered clone to raise as his son to let him rot in a jar for years.

“I want to raise him myself,” he says and the Kaminoan looks confused by this, but she doesn’t say anything and presses a button on the console. 

There’s a hissing sound as the tube opens and a mechanical arm reaches inside to scoop the baby inside and pulls him out gently. Jango stares as the baby is given to a medical droid who takes him to an examination table. The droid makes a little noise that’s immediately followed by the strident wail of the baby.

_ His _ baby. 

Jango’s heart is beating so fast it almost covers the sound of the child’s cry. He can’t bring himself to move closer as the droid examines the baby and cleans him of the fluid covering him before wrapping him in a blanket. Once it’s done, the droid steps aside.

“He’s perfectly healthy. Do you want to take a closer look?” it asks.

Jango swallows around the lump in his throat and nods, but it takes him a few seconds before he finally takes a step closer. He’s so…  _ tiny. _ His face is an angry red as he keeps crying and Jango’s heart aches at the sight. His hand is shaking when he brings it closer to the baby and touches the dark and soft hair already growing on the top of his head. 

The reality of the situation suddenly crashes down on him and Jango immediately starts panicking. 

He’s the reason the little one is here, desperately crying for the whole galaxy to hear. He’s responsible for him, for what he will grow into and he’s also entirely unprepared. He has no experience with children. Contrary to his buir who had always been excited to spend time with their clan’s kids, Jango didn’t have the patience for them. Right. His buir.

What would Jaster do?

He hasn’t thought like this in years, but it’s so easy to slip back into the habit Jango finally breathes out and just like that, he knows exactly what to do. 

Jango pulls his shirt off and puts it on the examination table. It’s so cold in here, no wonder the baby is so distressed. His hands are still shaking when he unwraps the blanket and the child’s cries immediately get louder. 

“I know, I know,” he mutters and slips his hands under the little one to gather him into his arms. Kriff, he’s just so,  _ so _ tiny, Jango is terrified of breaking him. He gently brings him closer to his chest and guides the baby’s head to rest in the crook of his neck with one hand. 

“There,” he rumbles softly. “Isn’t that better?”

The baby doesn’t calm down and Jango winces. What is he doing wrong? He knows skin contact is important, he remembers Jaster talking about it and getting out of his armor and flightsuit to cradle a newborn baby against his chest and rock them gently. They’d just freed a group of slaves from a bunch of pirates and one of them had been getting into labor a few hours before their attack. The mother had died in childbirth despite their best efforts, and they’d been left to deal with a newborn infant, already orphaned. Jaster had handled the situation like it was just second nature to him. 

It clearly isn’t second nature to Jango.

He tries rocking the baby gently, but it just seems to make things worse.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asks the droid, his voice hoarse.

“He’s perfectly healthy,” it says again and Jango grits his teeth.

“No, I mean, why can’t I calm him down?”

“Ah. Decanting is very distressing for human babies. Contrary to natural-born infants, he spent nine months in a very still and mostly quiet environment so he is probably overstimulated.”

Jango’s eyes widen. “Should I… not touch him?” 

“Skin contact is good. But I would suggest not moving him too much and being quiet around him, at least in the beginning.”

Oh. Okay. Jango can do that. “Can I take him to my quarters?” he whispers.

“Yes,” the Kaminoan says. “We will bring you what you need.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Jango grabs his shirt and retreats to his own quarters. The crying baby in his arms gets him odd looks from the longnecks he crosses path with on his way but Jango ignores them all. Once inside his quarters, he sits down on a chair and rearranges the child against his chest.

The baby hiccups miserably and Jango grits his teeth. Staying quiet is harder than he thought it would be, his instincts screaming at him to try to reassure the little one, but his deep voice would only distress him further.

It is, after all, the first time Jango is talking to him and he supposes this is what he gets for letting his son grow up in a jar without ever visiting until today. 

Kriff, he’s such an idiot. 

He only just became a father and he’s already failing. 

Jango closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’ll have to make this right. Slowly introduce himself. 

The baby finally stops crying. Jango looks down and frowns at the tear tracks running down the child’s round cheeks. His small body is still shaken by the occasional hiccup and Jango gently wipes his cheeks with a curled finger. The baby’s eyes are wide open and Jango drags his finger along his shoulder and arm, until he finds his hand. 

Tiny fingers wrap themselves around his fingers and Jango’s heart stutters. Probably exhausted by everything he just went through, the baby closes his eyes and Jango stares at him and gently strokes the hand wrapped around his finger with his thumb.

The baby is a warm weight on his chest and it feels like he’s filling the empty void left there since Galidraan. Jango doesn’t even try to hold the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

“Hello, Boba,” he whispers so quietly he barely makes a sound. 

Jango holds his breath, but his son doesn’t stir. It’s the first time in  _ years _ Jango feels proud of something he accomplished. 

The feeling is devastating. 


	2. Bossk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Bossk's turn!
> 
> CW: Alcohol abuse, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Angst.

“Come on kid, you’ve had enough.”

Boba glares at him and makes a point of emptying his glass with a hiss as the alcohol burns his throat on its way down. Bossk rolls his eyes and grabs the kid’s wrist before he can fill his glass again.

“I sssaid you’ve had enough,” Bossk growls.

“You’re not my dad,” Boba snaps back. 

His favorite thing to say whenever someone dares to try telling him not to do something. Well, maybe  _ favorite _ isn’t the right word, considering the anger that flashes in his dark eyes every time. Bossk sighs. He could argue with the kid, but he doesn’t have the patience for that. So he simply stands, drops the credits they owe on the table and gets behind Boba to slip his arms under the kid’s and lift him up.

“Hey! Stop that, you stupid lizard!” Boba hisses and trashes but he’s so tiny and light Bossk drags him away from the table and puts him on his feet. He spins the kid around before he can run away and lifts him up again to bend him over his shoulder.

“You-- Bossk!” Boba shrieks.

They’re attracting the attention of the other patrons so Bossk quickly makes his way out of the cantina as Boba keeps yelling and banging his tiny fists against Bossk’s back. 

“You! big! Ugly! Lizard!”

Bossk shouldn’t have let him drink that much in the first place. But Boba is right, he’s not the kid’s dad, because today is the fourth anniversary of Jango’s death and there’s no one to tell Boba to slow down when he gets like this.

At least no one the kid is willing to listen to. 

“Where’s the Slave I?” he growls because the air is cold outside and Bossk really wants to go back to his own ship right now.

“m’not telling you,” Boba hisses.

“Fine, you’re sssleeping at mine.”

“No! Your ship stinks!”

“Well then tell me where yours is!”

“I don’t wanna!”

“Boba,” Bossk says and snaps his teeth as a warning.

“Dock 17,” Boba finally mumbles.

“Good boy.”

At least he’s done struggling. Bossk quickly makes his way towards the docking bay to at least hide from the cold.

“I think m’gonna be sick,” the kid says as Bossk starts looking for the Slave I.

“Don’t throw up all over my back,” he hisses and walks a bit faster.

“Bossk,” Boba whines. “I’m really--” 

Oh, that’s not good. Bossk immediately takes him down and onto his feet. Boba is extremely pale, his eyes wide and sweat covering his face as he takes a few unsure steps before he falls onto his knees and starts retching. 

Bossk winces. Maybe carrying him with his head down wasn’t a good idea. Boba is puking his guts, his body shaking as he empties the content of his stomach, which is probably not much besides all the booze he drank tonight. The kid gasps, tears streaming down his face and Bossk kneels behind him to rub a hand against his back. 

“Might as well get it all out of your system,” he says with a sigh.

Boba makes a high pitched sound, something between a whine and a sob as he immediately starts vomiting again. Bossk simply waits until he’s done, at least he won’t have to clean up. Finally, it seems like Boba doesn’t have anything left to puke and he sags against Bossk, still trembling.

“Bossk,” he whines again, his voice wrecked and shaking. “I don’t feel good.”

“That’sss what you get for drinking so much,” Bossk sighs. 

“I don’t like this.”

“No one does.”

Boba starts crying. It’s not the quiet, angry tears Bossk is used to from Boba, but the big, ugly sobbing of a child. Because that’s what he is. A fourteen years old kid who shouldn’t be puking his guts in a docking bay because he drank too much booze. 

And all he has to pick him up is Bossk, who has no idea how to handle kids. It’s so kriffing sad Bossk could almost start crying too. 

“All right, let’s get you home and into bed,” he sighs and slips one arm under Boba’s knees to pick him up. 

Boba would definitely try to stab him for carrying him like this if he was in his normal state. Right now, he grabs Bossk’s flightsuit in a tight grip and buries his face against his chest as he keeps crying. Bossk takes him to the Slave I, mindful of the booby traps the kid installed to protect his ship - at least the ones he knows of. Thankfully, he manages not to set anything off and to carry Boba to his bunk. 

He sits the kid on his bed and Boba simply stays there, his shoulders slumped and arms limp as he keeps sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Bossk is pretty sure he never signed up for this. 

Yet, the thought of leaving him alone like this feels wrong. 

“Let’s get you out of your clothes, yeah?” he says and starts with Boba’s boots and pants. His jacket and shirt are next, and Bossk starts opening the cupboards above the bunk bed to find some clothes.

Some of them are way too big for a kid like Boba and Bossk knows exactly who they belong to. He keeps looking until he finds clothes that look like they belong to Boba. When he looks down, the teenager is shivering in his underwear but he has made no move to shield himself from the cold. What a mess. Bossk helps him put the clean clothes on and makes a move to leave the room and find him some water to drink, but Boba suddenly wraps his fingers around his wrist.

“Don’t leave me,” he hiccups. 

Bossk sighs. “You need to drink some water or you’ll seriously regret it in the morning.”

He’ll probably regret it either way, but Bossk might as well try to make it a bit better. Boba hesitates, but he finally lets go of his wrist, so Bossk heads towards the small kitchen area and opens the cooling unit to retrieve a bottle of water. He returns to Boba, opens the bottle and hands it to him.

“Come on, drink.”

It’s a slow and messy process with him still crying and hiccuping between each gulp of water. But he manages to drink at least half of it before he hands it back to Bossk with a grimace. 

“Good boy,” he says and pats the kid’s head.

Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say and do, because Boba immediately starts crying again. Bossk puts the bottle on the small table near the bunk bed and sits next to Boba. The kid throws himself against Bossk’s chest and he has no choice but to wrap his arms around him.

“I want my d-dad,” Boba sobs against his chest.

Bossk closes his eyes. “I know.”

“It’s not-- not  _ fair _ .”

Life isn’t fair. But that’s not what Boba needs to hear right now. Plus, he knows it all too well.

“I know,” Bossk says again.

He’s never letting the kid drink again when he’s around. At least not until he’s old enough to handle his liquor. With a sigh, Bossk shifts on the bed until he’s mostly laying down on it, the kid curled up on top of him. The bunk is too small for him, but he might as well get comfortable. Bossk has the feeling he won’t be going back to his own ship tonight.

He buries a clawed hand in Boba’s curls.

He’ll just have to run fast enough tomorrow morning when Boba wakes up mad because he spent the night crying into his arms.

If he’s lucky enough, the kid might not even remember this.


	3. Vader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to Vader!
> 
> CW: Vader is a creep.

“You’re the client.”

Vader’s shoulders tense and the prosthetic limbs attached to his body obey the signal sent by his nerves. His fists clench as whatever is left inside his chest aches at the sound of this voice. It’s a voice he knows perfectly well from having spent years listening to it everyday. A voice he tried to keep in his life as long as possible because it was familiar, because it was  _ his. _ But it was taken from him as well, in the end. 

Vader thought he’d never get to hear it again.

He reaches out and lets his mind brush against the clone’s, curious. He knows some of them managed to escape the control of their chip, either because it never worked in the first place or because it ended up malfunctioning at some point. He wonders what’s this one’s story. 

The clone’s mind is sharp, alert. He knows who Vader is and he’s not afraid, but he remains cautious, ready to fight if it comes down to it. Vader feels a smile tug at the corner of his ruined lips. He’s always liked the clones and it’s good to be in the presence of one whose brain hasn’t been scrambled by the chip. Vader wraps himself around the clone’s Force presence and closes his eyes. It tastes like the hot spices Skywalker used to add to most of his meals and Vader almost chokes on it. There is so much  _ anger _ there, lying under the sour taste of annoyance, ready to be unleashed. 

Vader goes deeper, tries to get more of it. He stops abruptly when he feels an unfamiliar sweetness, something he’s always connected to youth. It’s a flavor he hasn’t found in a clone’s signature in-- oh,  _ years _ and it shouldn’t be possible.

Vader turns around.

The clone is wearing Mandalorian armor. He’s also slightly smaller and a lot less toned than the clones Vader has worked with. 

“I am,” he finally says. “And you’re the best Jabba has. Are you bounty hunters up to the challenge?”

The wookie growls, but Vader’s attention is solely focused on the clone.

“Give us the mission. You’ll see.”

He’s confident, but not cocky. He has the experience to back up his statement because he is young, but not  _ that _ young and--

Oh. Of course.

Fett had a son, didn’t he? An unaltered clone. 

Suddenly, Vader can’t help but wonder what is hiding under that helmet of his. Did his hair start growing white on his temples, like Fox’s did when he was around the same age? Does he keep it long like Appo did, or short like Cody’s? 

If he took off his helmet, would Vader meet Rex’s dark eyes? 

Vader finally opens his mouth to give them the mission. He hopes Boba Fett is as good as he says he is. He’s young, spared by the rapid aging that ate away at the clones of the 501st until Vader had no choice but to get rid of them all. If he doesn’t disappoint him, Vader might get to keep this one. 

A small indulgence, one the Emperor can’t take away from him.


	4. Han Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Han and Boba are 100% bitter exes in ESB.
> 
> CW: mention of underage drinking, mention of underage smoking, mention of sex between two teenagers, fluff and soft, just two dumb teenagers really.

Something tickles his nose and Han groans, annoyed. It happens again, so he cracks one eye open, only to realize that the thing tickling his nose is actually a strand of curly dark hair. Han frowns and tries to focus despite the fog engulfing his mind. Han has never been a morning person and the awful taste in his mouth is a terrible reminder of what he has probably been doing last night. The good thing about being sixteen is that he won’t need the whole day to recover. Plus, it doesn’t seem like he passed out in someone’s bathtub or in a dumpster outside of a cantina, because there’s a soft mattress under him. So that’s a win. Now that he’s a bit more alert, Han realizes there’s a warm body pressed against his, an arm wrapped possessively around his waist and a leg straddling his hip. Han looks down to find more dark curls and the warm breath brushing against his chest makes him shiver. 

The boy currently using him as a body pillow whines and tightens his hold on Han.

Well, kriff, who knew Boba Fett was such a cuddler. 

Yesterday is quite a blur, but Han does remember the burn of the Corellian whiskey in his throat and the urgency in the kiss they shared after their fourth or fifth cup. Everything that happened afterwards is a bit more confusing, but Han remembers enough. 

And there’s an almost naked Boba Fett in his arms, so really, it’s not hard to guess.

“Hey, Fett,” he says and scrunches up his nose at how raspy his voice sounds. Right, they smoked quite a lot too, didn’t they? “Fett, my arm is numb.”

The bounty hunter groans and buries his face deeper against Han’s chest. 

Great. “Fett, I’m serious, I can’t feel my right arm and I happen to like my right arm a lot, so if you could, you know, scoot over?”

“You talk too much,” the other boy mutters and raises his head to glare at Han.

The effect is ruined by his puffy eyes and sleep-mussed face. Han snorts and flexes his arm to get the blood flowing again. He expects Fett to kick him out of bed at this point and makes a move to get out of the bunk, but the bounty hunter grabs his arm and pulls until Han has no choice but to follow the motion.

“What--” he starts and snaps his mouth shut when he finds himself facing the wall with Fett plastered against his back. 

The bounty hunter sneaks his arm around Han’s waist and presses his nose against the back of his neck. 

“Sooooo, we’re cuddling?” Han asks hesitantly. 

“No,” Fett mumbles and squeezes Han tighter.

“You’re sending me mixed signals here, pal.”

Fett opens his mouth and bites the back of Han’s neck sharply. Han jolts and flushes at the yelp that tears itself out of his throat.

“Hey, what the kriff!”

“We’re not cuddling. I’m using you as a heater. Now stop talking.”

Han rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of that statement. “You’re such a karking weirdo.”

“Don’t make me throw you out of my ship in your underwear, Solo,” Fett growls.

And, well. It’s not like Han has never been kicked out of someone’s place and wandered in the streets butt naked, but it’s the middle of winter on Corellia and Fett  _ is _ comfortably warm. So Han pouts, but he does keep his mouth shut for once.

Fett hums with satisfaction and rubs his nose against the back of Han’s neck. It’s almost cute. Han closes his eyes, lulled by the gentle rise and fall of Fett’s chest against his back. 

There are worse ways to spend a benduday morning, after all. 


End file.
